A Prayer to Death
by facacia
Summary: But none of that truly mattered, did it? Not to him or his kingdom. Not a single fragment changed in the world of death and ghosts. It didn't matter if a battalion of soldiers died because of an atomic bomb, poison, or canons.
The legendary river called Styx that flowed in the Underworld had compelled many heroes and warriors throughout the several millennia the bored god had seen. They ventured into the land of the dead with the ambition to achieve invulnerability. They sought protection from joining the lost souls that roamed mindlessly in Asphodel. However, none succeeded. Still, the foolish fantasies of the most vulnerable creatures that Gaia had allowed on her land continued.

Who was the god of death to rob them of such fantasies?

Cold, expressionless blue eyes watched as a muscular warrior, clad in a shining armor that could've been the light of Apollo himself, writhed and screamed in the acidic water of the loyal yet treacherous river Styx. Yet again, the god saw, another hero dared to bathe in the Styx. Yet again, another symbol of hope burned in the coldest waters of hell, handsome face deformed. If he felt any amusement from watching the wonderful tableau presented, he'd drink from Lethe after every show to enjoy the repetitive pattern every time as it was new.

The ruler of the dead wondered when - if, ever - the pathetically hopeful vermin would grasp their senses and stop coming. He also wondered what form of entertainment would be left for him in this kingdom of despair, regrets and torment.

The rich god knew, of course, what the Styx offered to those who were worthy. Invulnerability was something he had observed that every mortal desired above all else. Every mortal feared death, and mankind's eternal pursuit towards immortality was interesting to watch. Irritating at times, but always entertaining. The most - and only - admirable trait of these weak species was their stubborn determination.

But hope was pointless; the god knew that all too well. When such a powerful god could have his hopes crushed, what were the longings of mere humans?

Only once had he seen the Styx grant its ultimate reward to a human. Its gift of invulnerability. The god had watched as a mother desperate for hope held her baby by the ankle and dipped him headfirst into the acidic water. He thought her to be foolish - how could she think that a babe would be capable to survive the bath and have the gift of the goddess Styx bestowed upon it?

But then he watched the babe survive. He watched the weak creature grow into an awe-inspiring warrior. However, humans are and always will be feeble species, they are mortal and are bound to return to the same ashes they were born. It is nature.

He watched as the great warrior fell to his eternal sleep as an arrow kissed his ankle - the same ankle his mother held as she bathed him in the River. Humans are, were, and always will be temporary creatures. They are meant for the entertainment of the gods.

But the unseen god couldn't still fathom why he hoped for an exception. Hope was, after all, pointless.

The exception came along a few centuries - or was it millennia? - later. The god had seen multiple wars decimate different parts of the world, had seen disasters sent by his brothers wipe out nations at a time. The world of the living had developed at a shocking rate. The last time he had gone to the land of the living, he saw a weaker form of his younger brother's lightning being utilized to power machinery and lighting. He saw tall buildings made of glass and marbles. The most interesting thing he saw, though, was the drastic increase in mankind's corruption. It all made him wonder if his brothers and their incompetent children were cooking up another war or simply planning to end the human world once and for all.

But none of that truly mattered, did it? Not to him or his kingdom. Not a single fragment changed in the world of death and ghosts. It didn't matter if a battalion of soldiers died because of an atomic bomb, poison, or canons.

He leaned back in his throne made of iron and ice, finding solace in the coldness of fire and the burn of ice. Expressionless, unimpressed eyes studied the the walls of a castle he built for himself, awaiting the arrival of yet another indiscreet hero. His pale hand reached out absentmindedly to his loyal guard dog, Cerberus, and affectionately ruffled the dual-colored fur of one of his heads. A small smile made its way on his young face, as eyes very similar to his own blinked up at him.

The king of the underworld tilted his head, blank eyes staring at the gates through which he expected the hero to enter.

Red, blazing eyes gazed at him proudly from a standing far beaneath his. For what reason the mortal was so arrogant, the god did not know. What he did know was that this mortal could very well be the change he so desired.

Pale lips curled upwards in a small smirk of anticipation, blank eyes closely watching as the armor-clad mortal stepped up the dark stairs of his throne room, sliver and white armor contrasting greatly against the bright red of the man's hair.

When the king realized he was not going to speak, he demanded his purpose of daring to enter the kingdom of the god of the Underworld, and who he was.

"I am Akashi Seijuro, heir to the throne of the Great Akashi Empire," the red-eyed prince answered. "I come here bearing an offer - a deal - that your lordship will not be able to resist," a secretive smile appeared on the prince's young face, as he boldly stared into the death god's eyes, gaze faltering not once.

"Is that so?" the god asked, nothing betraying his interest except for the miniscule flash of curiosity in expressionless blue eyes. When he saw a glint of gold in the left eye of the mortal that stood before him, the king of riches realized that this was no ordinary human. "Whose godly blood is it that courses through your veins, Akashi Seijuro of Teiko?" Was it the god of lightining? the goddess of wisdom? the god of prophecies?

The red-haired prince smirked, left eye now fully gold as held out a hand. "Join me, Lord of Death and Riches, in my pursuit to bring mankind to the justice it deserves," He started climbing the stairs towards the god as he spoke, silver cloak shimmering in the dim light of the black-walled hall.

"Join me to conquer the world that was stolen from my mother," Akashi Seijuro spoke, now a little distance from the blue-haired King, "Join the son of Nyx, the mother of darkness and death that you rule. Join me, the brother of destruction and light, god of despair!" he stood directly in front of the powerful god, hand outstretched.

Blue eyes widened, pale hands gripping iron made of ice. "Moros..." he murmured, watching with disbelief as the personification of the essence of his very own being looked down at him.

"Should I take that as acceptance, Hades - or rather, Tetsuya?" the being of doom asked, dual-colored eyes glinting with dark amusement.

Without a moment wasted, his question was immediately answered. "Certainly," the King breathed.


End file.
